


Push

by purple_bookcover



Category: A Charm of Magpies Series - K. J. Charles
Genre: Anal Sex, Breathplay, Choking, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28118007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: Stephen is digging his heels in and insisting on doing something they both know is unfathomably dangerous. Crane negotiates in the way he knows Stephen understands best - physically.
Relationships: Stephen Day/Lucien Vaudrey
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Push

**Author's Note:**

> Note the tags please :)

It’s dangerous when Stephen gets like this.

He’s pushing. Crane knows it, but that doesn’t make it any more likely he’ll be able to stop it. Stephen stands there with his hands on his hips, obstinate as a boulder blocking a river. Crane will crash against him, if not now, later, and there’s little he can do to stop it. 

“I’m going,” Stephen says. 

“Yes, with me,” Crane says.

“You aren’t listening,” Stephen says. “ _I_ am going. Alone.”

“Stephen, you know this is ridiculous. You know I’m not just going to sit here and watch you walk off into some nest of vipers and shrug.”

“You are a liability.”

The heat boiling in Crane’s chest surges up his throat. He grits his teeth and shoves it down. Knowing Stephen could kill him, and probably half the city, with a thought doesn’t make it any less infuriating to watch him storm off on some doomed heroic quest again and leave Crane behind. He’s powerful, but he’s still small, a fact he seems to conveniently forget when they’re not in the bedroom. 

Stephen steps away and Crane plants himself right in his path. Two can play at this boulder thing and Crane is much more true to size. 

Stephen flexes his fingers. “Move.” 

It’s low and quiet and dangerous and despite how angry Crane is in this moment it goes right to his dick. God, Stephen is hot when he’s doing his whole “surly, unreasonably powerful warlock” thing.

But Crane isn’t afraid of him. Never was, never will be. So he grabs Stephen by his skinny arms and hauls him off his feet. Stephen grunts when his back hits the wall, but he glares daggers down at Crane. 

“No,” Crane says.

“Lucien.” 

Crane drags Stephen to his mouth. That little whimper trembling along the edges of the word “Lucien” gave him away, tilting the scales in Crane’s favor. Stephen can snarl all he wants, but Crane sees through it, especially as their tongues tangle, a different sort of battle beginning. 

Still, Stephen wriggles and squirms until Crane has to set him down. It doesn’t matter. Crane cages Stephen in with his arms, towering over him, leveraging his size to loom and glower. 

“I could break you,” Stephen says. 

Crane grabs him by the jaw and holds tightly. “You’d rather be broken yourself, wouldn’t you?”

Stephen glares, but his cheeks flush, eyes glassy with a mixture of desire and outrage. Crane moves his hand slowly, slowly to Stephen’s neck. He does not press, just leaves it there, a threat and a promise, depending on how Stephen reacts next. 

“You’re a noisy little bitch today,” Crane says. “We ought to fix that.” 

Stephen’s throat bobs under the gentle press of Crane’s hand. He’s clenching his jaw, but it’s futile. The desire couldn’t be more plain if Stephen screamed it aloud – which he will, very soon. He mumbles something too soft to hear.

“What was that?” Crane says.

“Yes,” Stephen snaps, hard and bitter. “But it doesn’t change the fact that--”

Crane spins him around and shoves him face first against the wall before he can finish. Whatever stupid, defiant thing Stephen meant to say turns into a gasp and then a grunt as Crane presses in close and crowds him against the wall. Crane reaches around Stephen, rubbing over his crotch as he grinds against his ass.

“All that bite,” Crane says, “but you’re already hard, you little slut. Were you hard the whole time? Were you just pushing to get a reaction?” 

Stephen just whines and shifts his hips back, breaths already ragged and loud. He braces against the wall to shove his ass against Crane. 

Crane slides his hand up. Stephen is already trembling and on edge, but it’s far too soon for that. No, Crane certainly isn’t going to reward him this quickly. 

Crane sets a hand on Stephen’s throat, but this time he does apply pressure. Stephen leans into it, curling his back to meet the opposing forces of Crane’s control. Stephen’s neck is as slender as the rest of him; Crane can nearly fit his hand around it. Stephen’s breaths shred like clouds clawed to ribbons by a mountaintop when Crane squeezes carefully. 

He releases after only a few seconds. Stephen gasps in a deeper breath, even as he whimpers for more. And oh, he will have more, but not until Crane deems it so. 

He hauls Stephen away from the wall to toss him onto the bed. Stephen lies there almost limp. The stubborn boulder has crumbled, leaving behind only pebbles easily kicked aside. Distantly, Crane knows it isn’t over, that Stephen will be hard as stone the moment this is over, but for now he intends to pound every errant thought right out of Stephen’s irritating, beautiful head. 

Crane stalks toward the bed, deliberately slow, watching Stephen’s lips fall open, watching his thin chest swell around deepening breaths. He’s lovely like this, all of his high, hard walls lowered, his body soft and pliant and waiting for Crane’s touch, for his command. 

Crane means to make Stephen wait longer, but he gives in, crawling over him on the bed, kissing down his neck, plucking his shirt open to expose more skin to lavish as he descends. Stephen rolls his hips up, but Crane shoves them roughly down, holding Stephen still, forcing him to endure without wriggling for relief. 

When he reaches Stephen’s waist, he unbuttons his trousers and tosses them aside. Stephen lays bare and flushed and panting beneath him, while Crane is still entirely dressed. Crane leaves him that way for a moment, forces him to lie there humiliated while Crane coolly appraises him. It only makes the heat in Stephen’s cheeks deepen. 

Finally, Crane works at his own shirt, letting it slide down his arms and to the floor. But he leaves the pants on for a moment, slipping off the bed, pacing his bedroom. He knows Stephen’s eyes follow every move. He can hear the ache in each of Stephen’s haggard breaths. But the biggest clue of all is that, when Crane turns, Stephen is still lying exactly as Crane left him and trembling from the effort. 

Crane reaches into a drawer beside the bed almost absentmindedly, rummaging around longer than he needs to. Stephen’s eyes are sharp in the darkness, prickling as he watches, his anticipation heavy and hot in the air. 

By the time Crane returns to the bed and starts undoing his trousers, Stephen shakes like a leaf battered in a storm. He must need it bad; Crane is terrified to know why. 

All Crane can do when Stephen gets like this is oblige, and he certainly intends to. There’s something hard and ugly and mean inside Stephen, something that eats and eats at him until he needs this, needs every thought and care pounded roughly out of him. 

Crane crawls over him. He trails his hand over Stephen’s straining cock, which earns him a whimper and a shiver of distress. Then Crane slides his hand up, setting it at Stephen’s throat. If he can’t get inside Stephen’s head, he’ll squeeze the damn thoughts right out of him. 

Stephen grabs Crane’s wrist, but his hand is tingling in a way Crane knows means excitement. The electric crackle of Stephen’s hand sizzles as Crane presses down, testing the pressure. 

He takes it away all at once and Stephen gasps, but not for air. Crane slicks up his fingers and shoves them into Stephen before he’s even recovered. He squirms on Crane’s hand, clawing at the bedsheets, but it’s barely even necessary. He’s nearly pulsing around Crane’s fingers before Crane drags them free.

He sits back, idly slicking up his cock as he peers down at a flushed and panting Stephen. 

“H-hurry,” Stephen says.

“You don’t give orders here,” Crane says. “Understand?”

Stephen gnaws on his lip as he nods, eyes glazed over. 

Crane pushes Stephen’s legs back and apart, bending him nearly in half. “What was that?”

“Yes,” Stephen gasps. 

Crane leans forward between Stephen’s legs. Their cocks rub together as he looms over Stephen to growl in his ear, “You mean to test my patience today, hm? I think you’ll break first, you needy little slut. I think I’ll have you begging for cock with that obstinate little mouth of yours.”

Stephen’s breaths shallow, like a tree being stripped of its leaves, left bare and brittle. Crane shifts his hips so their cocks rub and a high note of desperation squeezes out of Stephen’s throat. 

“I said,” Crane says, “do you understand?” 

Stephen releases a shuddering breath, then manages, “Yes. Sir. Yes, sir.” 

Crane snorts derisively. He reaches for his own cock, angles it and shoves unceremoniously into Stephen. The reaction is intense and immediate. Stephen arches onto his shoulder blades, most of him lifting off the mattress, and cries out at the ceiling, eyes nearly as wide as his mouth. 

Crane just stays like that, leaving Stephen to moan and pant and suck in trembling breaths while Crane’s cock fills him. His eyes flutter shut, teeth gritting, but he’s hot and pulsing around Crane, like he’s trying to drag him deeper. 

Crane obliges, nudging deeper while Stephen kicks at the sheets and groans between his teeth. He runs a hand up Stephen’s swelling body, feeling those deep, desperate cries, the hard peaks of his nipples, the thin breaths caught in his throat. Here, Crane presses, pushing out those sips of air, making even less space for them as he grips Stephen by the neck. 

A shudder runs through Stephen. It’s not just his hands anymore. Crane can almost taste the champagne washing through him, making all of his skin tingle. 

When Stephen grabs his wrist, it’s like a whole cask pours over Crane’s hand, bubbling and snapping and crackling as it washes over his skin. There’s total surrender in that grip, the wild ecstasy of utter submission. When Crane pushes, it only intensifies, but if it turns into anything but this, anything but insensate bliss, he’ll tear it away.

Right now, it is a blaring go signal, a beating plea. And Crane can’t help but indulge. 

He shifts his hips, grinding his dick inside Stephen in a slow curl while bracing against both the bed and Stephen’s throat. Stephen arches with him, hips moving with Crane’s slow thrust. 

They won’t stay slow for long. 

Crane maintains the agonizing pace long enough to leave Stephen whimpering, nearly drooling, body clutching around Crane to beg feebly. He sucks in just enough air to vocalize.

“Please,” Stephen rasps, already ragged. “Please, sir,” he amends quickly. 

“Needy,” Crane breathes. He wants to add more. _Whore_ comes to mind. _Simpering little slut_ does as well. But encased in Stephen’s heat, he says only, “Beg.”

Stephen groans and writhes, as though the effort of speaking requires some heroic build up of coherence and breath. With Crane buried deep inside him and choking the air out of him, perhaps it does.

“Please fuck me, sir,” Stephen says in a burst, the words exploding from his thin, ragged chest. “Please fuck me hard, fuck me hard, sir, please, I need it. I’m a pathetic slut and I need it, sir.” 

The words go on, tumbling out in a rush of supplication. Crane is tempted to let it continue, but Stephen’s voice is winding its way down into Crane’s gut, making everything tight and hot. He fucks into Stephen, harder, harder, harder with every pump, and Stephen nearly screams with relief. The crackle of his hand gripping Crane’s is wonderfully painful, sharp bites of electricity stinging Crane’s skin. 

He pushes harder, pushes that last little bit of breath out of Stephen. Stephen tilts his head back. His eyes are open just a sliver, but all Crane can see is white, like they’ve rolled back into his head. No sound escapes his throat now, but he jerks and thrashes in Crane’s hold, mouth agape around moans Crane sees rather than hears. 

Crane’s hips stutter. Somehow, he pounds faster into Stephen, caught up in his reckless need, his rapturous surrender. All of his anger is gone. He can’t even remember how they got here, what they were arguing about. There’s only now, with Stephen sparking like champagne overflowing a glass. 

Stephen starts to shudder. The magpies shift their restless wings, preparing to take flight. Crane chases a little more pressure, enough to leave Stephen truly breathless for a moment, weightless and floating. The crackling intensifies, needles prickling Crane’s hand. Stephen tightens around him, his whole body winding taut. Crane marvels at him, at this perfect, precious human in his possession, giving himself entirely to his control. 

A cry forces its way free of Stephen’s ravaged throat. Crane shoves in deep, as deep as he can, and Stephen clenches around him, holds him there, pressure like the force at his throat barreling into Crane all at once. 

He spills into Stephen, stuttering against him with beats of boiling pleasure. Crane is thrashing under him, pulsing around him, body contorting around his pleasure like it’s too much to bear. 

Crane’s hand slackens as his body empties into Stephen. Stephen sucks in a breath and then his bliss bursts out, a broken cry on the verge of true weeping. 

He’s still moaning and jerking when Crane drags out of him, wrapping him in his arms, holding that small, shuddering body against him. For a moment, he’s truly worried he went too far, that he broke something in Stephen at last, but then Stephen sighs, quieting in Crane’s hold, trembling hands wrapping around Crane in return. 

“Better?” Crane says.

“Fuck you,” Stephen says, but he lets out another long, sighing breath of contentment. 

Crane laughs and pushes them apart enough so he can see Stephen’s stupid, beautiful, blushing face. He tilts Stephen’s chin up, kissing him. He’s breathing easy already, but that kiss rattles Stephen. 

“What is it?” Crane says. “Stephen, come on.” 

Stephen twists his mouth around a frown, keen eyes clear again as he gazes at Crane. “You’re going to follow me regardless of what I say, aren’t you? No matter what I tell you about the danger, about being utterly out of your depth and out-matched, about being a liability. You’re not going to let me do this alone, are you?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

Stephen tries to shake his head and look angry, but the frown cracks, pulling insistently at the corners. He buries his head against Crane’s chest and mutters.

“What was that?” Crane says.

“You’re the worst,” Stephen says, muffled by flushed skin. 

Crane just strokes a hand down his slender, sweaty back, down the soft curl of his body, relenting in Crane’s arms, letting him stay close like this a little longer than they ought. “Yeah,” he says, “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


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